Ghost on the Grid
by AspectoftheFox
Summary: The tale of a security program that becomes entangled in CLU's war for a perfect System, and inadvertently affects the outcome of events yet to come. Re-written and reposted! Rinzler/Tron, Castor, Gem, CLU2, OC (Echo). This takes place just prior to the events in Legacy. cover art by daenzar. deviantart. com
1. Chapter 1

June 2009 TC976

"Heard anything yet?" The female blue-circuit named Echo asked, her voice low. She was keeping an eye on her surroundings while absently tapping the foot of a prosthetic leg to the beat of the synthesized electronic music. Daxon, the green-circuit the question was meant for was returning from another trip to the club's bar. This was his third drink since he'd arrived at the Firewall Club and his company was becoming increasingly less productive. He flopped down into the seat on the other side of the table from her, sloshing some of the green energy intoxicant on himself.

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I'm Ember's most trusted lieutenant, she would tell me if she wasn't coming," Daxon said, though his words were taking on a soft, slurred inflection that didn't lend much credence to his claim. Echo was feigning periodic sips from her highball of glowing purple Energy-light. Castor had suggested that she stay sober tonight for the meeting, though apparently Daxon had not recieved the same advice from his own employer. "I'll keep you company until she does." The last part was said with a wink and a sloppy grin.

Echo scanned the door to the street, disinterested in Daxon's clumsy flirtations, trying to will Ember to come through the door if for no other reason than to save her from Daxon's company. There were reports of a small military presence in the area earlier that evening, but Firewall, small and not well known, seemed to manage to avoid visits from patrolling soldiers; Ember, leader of one of the bigger resistance factions in the neighboring Argon city, was notoriously skittish when it came to avoiding red-circuits. As CLU's forces spread throughout the System, most heavily concentrated in Tron City, Ember missed more meet-ups than she made. This would probably be the third time that she had canceled, though the night wasn't over yet. A couple of programs were dancing to the music blasting over the speakers and Echo watched them for a moment before her eyes moved to the perimeter of the small, rectangular establishment, checking each of the booths for the twelfth time. Her scan ended at the circular bar in the center of the room where Dumont, an old program from the pre-CLU era, was slumped against the bar surface, his hand around a mug of orange fluid while Lars the barman cleaned glasses. The crowd was thinner tonight, but that wasn't surprising. A lot of regulars in this club would want to avoid the military as much as Ember did.

Echo decided that she would give Ember another fifteen minutes before she called it a night, and absently swirled her drink around in its glass. The little decorative umbrella fell out and landed on the table into a small puddle which rippled with every bass-laden electronic drum beat. Echo pursed her lips thoughtfully while staring at it and pretended not to hear Daxon propose that the two of them retreat for the evening for some private time when a subtle prickling on the back of her neck made her check the door again.

"That must be why she didn't show," Echo suggested, immediately following up with a kick to Daxon's shin with a metal foot. He followed the direction of her eyes to the door.

A black figure had just sauntered into the space, the warm neon lighting which changed colors in step with the music barely giving shape to his form. One arm was firmly around the waist of an attractive Siren program wearing a skintight white dress and a small eye mask, the uniform of a companion. Echo immediately recognized the male program by his uniform. He was one of CLU's most elite and highly-ranked soldiers, called the Black Guard for their nearly solid black uniforms, only punctuated by a few defining red circuits. Echo had never encountered one in a one-on-one fight, because she knew that they were very hard to kill; they acted with more autonomy than the lower ranking captains and foot soldiers, which made their combat styles less predictable.

The Black Guard's face was uncovered now, showing gaunt, shadowed features with a shock of orange-blond hair trimmed neatly on top of his head. He was chatting with his female escort and Echo could see from where she was that there was a faint red glow emanating from his mouth every time it opened. She recognized the side effects of heavy re-programming when she also caught sight of his pupils, which glowed faintly red as well. The glowing eyes and mouth against the dim lighting of the club was unnerving. Echo could tell from where she sat that the Siren's genial facial expression was forced as she laughed, trying to guide him into a booth right by the exit, but the Black Guard didn't seem to notice. Contingency plan. Echo recognized it well.

"Well voxx me," Daxon said when it looked like they were there to stay. The Siren immediately ordered a stiff drink from their table's menu console and a small, hovering Bit that was employed as a server came with the drink order promptly.

The atmosphere had gone sour, but no one seemed to want to draw attention to themselves by leaving. Echo, especially. She was only a Security program, but she had gained enough of a reputation working for Castor that it might cause some trouble for her. She was tall, leanly muscular, and if she enhanced her features correctly, striking. Her one true vanity, however, was her hair. When helmets fell out of fashion, Echo embraced the hair and face-modification trend and had her own locks altered from its default black to a dark blue streaked with white. It was technically illegal but the law was rarely enforced; body modders were low priority to CLU's enforcers.

She toyed with the idea of activating her lightcycle helm, the toggle for which she always made sure to clip to the collar of her clothing before leaving her apartment, but decided to wait it out. The Siren accompanying the Black Guard, with the collaboration of the club's barman, was plying him with free drinks, now on his second, obviously hoping that intoxication would make him less of a threat. Echo sized him up covertly, taking in his demeanor and poise and calculating his current state.

"Don't draw attention to yourself," Echo ordered a bleary-eyed Daxon. She was using the Hard voice, the one that seemed to make others more willing to listen to her sound advice. He nodded and slumped down further in his seat, an action which looked completely natural in his current state. Echo strolled casually over to the bar, where the barman, a former green-circuit tank operator named Lars was watching the Black Guard in the corner very closely.

At the bar, the older programs that she had recognized before were muttering angrily amongst themselves, and with them sat an old communications director named Dumont, who had supposedly been around since before CLU had rewritten the System. Echo leaned over the bar like she was ordering another drink and Lars came over to her.

"What's the plan, Lars?" Echo asked, allowing a wry tone to sneak into her question. He glanced at her. He wasn't frightened, this wasn't the first risky customer the establishment had entertained.

"I don't know, man. If Jinx can't get him to leave, we might have a problem on our hands," Lars said, his tone low. Echo was doubtful that this particular guest would be so considerate. Instead of relaxing with his drink, he seemed more antsy, glancing away from the sultry Jinx in his lap to look around the room at the other patrons. He was looking for a fight, and if anyone got in his way, there would likely be no consequences for him. She watched as a couple surreptitiously slid out the back door of the place, escaping notice. Echo was ready to jet as well. Dumont had apparently woken up and seen the soldier, and was now muttering about him to the glassy-eyed programs on either side of him.

"... not welcome here. We don't have anything CLU wants," Dumont's voice carried over the sound of the music, and Echo checked the corner where the Siren Jinx and the blond soldier were sitting.

"Be quiet, Dumont. Now is _not_ the time. Just go home," Lars entreated. Echo decided to take Lars' advice herself and leave, and she headed back to her table to let Daxon know that the meeting would have to be rescheduled.

"I'm not leaving! He should leave! This was our system before CLU took over," the angry, slurred bellowing was sudden and startling and there was no doubt that it had reached the back table. To Echo's utter lack of surprise, she saw the Black Guard leap to his feet, dumping Jinx on the hard floor. His burning red gaze and mouth were turned toward Dumont. Echo saw more programs slip out the back door on the opposite end of the room and quickly regretted letting Daxon pick a table that was not near an exit.

Reflexively, Echo retrieved the disc that was mounted on her back and a few thoughts shot through her mind simultaneously as she watched a terrified Jinx try to calm the soldier from an awkward position on the floor. First, that she had not wiped her disc in at least a cycle. Second, that she had been present during some highly illegal and incriminating activities that might implicate her employer, let alone herself. And third, that right when things had been going well for her, this situation was likely not going to end up positively for anyone, no matter the outcome.

Dumont's neighbor at the bar roughly jabbed him in the shoulder in order to get his attention, which was hard won against his slow-reacting intoxicated state, just in time for hi to witness the Black Guard taking a step forward. Jinx, who foolishly held on to a leg in an act of selfless bravery, was struck first, and when her body collapsed into a luminous white mound of tiny cubic voxels and coolant, Echo could hear the screams of the patrons over the pulsing beat, and everyone froze or tried to get away. The Black Guard strode forward now, and, removing his baton from its thigh clip, activated the blazing circuit sword and casually thrust it into another patron's middle. He, too, was reduced to his component voxels in a wet, chunky pile on the floor and Echo's jaw tensed as she looked at the remains of the innocent program. She needed to figure out the best way to handle this situation before it handled her.

She was on her feet, and the soldier didn't miss her formidable height which now blocked his path. Their gazes locked from meters away, and Echo found herself very unsettled to confront the twin pair of burning red pits where his pupils should be. It was apparently a side effect of higher-level Rectification, though it seemed at this moment a deliberate measure to invoke fear in those on the wrong side of the law. His arm swing out and loosed his circular weapon, its inner ring red and its edge glowing white, though it hadn't been aimed for her. In her peripheral vision, she saw another program, this one poised at the back door on the verge of escaping, collapse into formless pile of debris on the floor. That was three. Echo could not reconcile the deaths of innocent programs in such a meaningless way and charged forward, directly into his path.

Black Guard threw himself toward her as well, swinging his circuit sword in an arc which left a trail of red behind it. She detected a slight torpor in his movements that was likely due to his intoxication and was able to duck in time. Daxon wasn't and a look of shocked horror was frozen on his face as the sword's edge skimmed his head, removing a large chunk of it and leaving behind weeping, bright blue glowing polygonal wound and the male program slid onto the floor, terminated whole. Time slowed to a crawl as the guard went for her a second time, and Echo's mind went to a familiar and comforting blank place where her arms seemed to move of their own volition. Some of the voxels which comprise the physical structure of Basic programs are more crucial than others, this she knew for a fact. When struck with enough force in the correct point, the damage could cause a cascade failure, spreading to the surrounding anatomy, ultimately resulting in de-resolution and death.

Echo's muscles had moved in practiced fashion, without her direction, and her aim was true. She saw the edge of her disc slice into the exposed neck of the Black Guard and watched in horrified fascination as a pattern in the shape of a red glowing grid radiated outward from the point of impact across the soldier's body, mad rage on his face until the end, before he shattered into a thousand thousand tiny blocks, spraying her with his bright red fluids. The voxels and remaining internal fluids fell to the floor in a messy tumble and her brain came back online as if a switch had been flipped. Time resumed its normal pace once more and Echo found herself standing there, covered in the red glowing internal fluids of the fallen soldier. Time to go.

She looked around the room, which had mostly cleared out by this point, and her eyes fell upon Dumont. His friends had left, probably the moment that the Black Guard's threat was removed from the equation. The old man's mouth was working silently as he stared at where the Black Guard had been standing. Echo felt a spark of anger well up inside and she took two steps toward him, but remembered where she was and halted in her tracks. The soldier's disc jutted out from the middle of the gory detritus, red rings still illuminated though their power source had been removed, and Echo reached down to grab it quickly.

She couldn't leave it here with the soldier's recorded memory of that night's events stored on it, she doubted that his violent behavior would make any difference in her judgment for terminating him. She would have to take it to Tricky's Disc Repair immediately. The disc tech's underground disc wiping operation was only a few blocks from here. He usually required an appointment, but Echo figured that under the current circumstances, he might be willing to make an exception, and she could wipe her disc as well. Then she could sell the blank discs – blanks fetched a premium right now, with so many programs needing to elude CLU's justice- and lay low at Castor's for awhile.

By the time she had turned toward the bar again, Dumont was gone, as was Lars. She had to give it to the patrons of the Firewall, they knew when to scatter the first chance they got in a nasty situation. Echo followed their lead and, with one last respectfully lingering glance at what was left of Jinx, Daxon, and the other two victims, and rushed out the back door.

Tron City was, for the most part, designed with wide open streets and well-lit paths between its buildings and plazas. Section 2A, however, was more neglected than most and had not been streamlined along with the rest of the city sections. Over the many cycles, alleys had been built upon and added to to make room for more cast outs and businesses of ill repute, and these alleys were deliberately linked into a covert network of pathways and alternate routes when the main thoroughfares weren't a safe option for travel. Echo didn't think twice and slipped sideways into a dark path which led to a tunnel beneath the road. Normally such a passageway would be dangerous alone, even for a confident fighter like Echo; find yourself cornered in a poorly lit area and even a seasoned warrior could fall prey to the city's more deranged or corrupted element. She would rather face what the dark corners of the metropolis had to offer rather than CLU's "justice."

The tunnel was partially submerged in the runoff from the last rain, and it was sparsely lit. A single dim light installed every few meters or so broke up the oppressive blackness, and fully enclosed; to her, having to hunch slightly to keep her hair from scraping the ceiling and being unable to fully extend her arms to the side, it made her feel as though the space was going to collapse in on her. Her every instinct screamed for her to exit into open air once more where she might be able to defend herself against attackers. But she could hear the patrols on the streets above, one of the upside-down horseshoe-shaped Recognizers was passing directly overhead, the telltale rumble of its power converter reverberating through the street surface. Something crawled across her boot and Echo couldn't keep herself from jumping slightly, smashing her head into the damp, slimy tunnel ceiling, and looked down to see a small, glowing green Grid Bug skittering wetly by, its destination taking it elsewhere. With a shudder, Echo refocused her thoughts to her own goal; Tricky's Disc Shop, and the code-locked secret basement where he might be able to help her amend her situation. If her sense of direction didn't fail her, there should be an intersection up ahead, the left fork of which would take her up to the street-level rear entrance to the disc shop.

Something wasn't right, however; Echo continued down the path for a few more meters and saw no intersection. Instead, the tunnel continued forward, stretching into darkness. A ladder on her right led to the street above, and Echo realized with some irritation that she had gone in the wrong direction and wasn't entirely sure where she was now. With a resigned sigh, used to finding herself turned around, she made the decision to venture up the ladder and at least find her bearings. She had a brief impulse to just throw the soldier's disc away right here, but while it had incriminating evidence stored on it, she couldn't let it out of her sight, and while most programs despised CLU and his merciless security forces, not all were above turning in a fellow Basic for credits or a pardon. Appreciating her choice in attire for the freedom of movement it allowed her, Echo ascended the ladder as quietly as she could, and when she reached the top, she gingerly lifted the manhole cover a fraction and peered out.

Suddenly, a bright white light blinded her, and before Echo could react, the cover was thrown off of her and the heat of an activated stun baton sizzled at her right cheek.

"Don't move, program," a male, digitally distorted voice barked. "Analyzing."

"She has two discs. Violation," another similarly distorted voice warbled. When Echo's vision cleared, she realized that she had managed to emerge directly in the middle of a group of patrolling soldiers. Two captains and six regular soldiers.

"Garbage," she muttered to herself.

"Silence, program. Any resistance will result in your immediate de-resolution. Anything but total compliance will result in immediate de-resolution," the first voice said. She didn't resist as two pairs of strong, gloved hands clamped around her upper arms and pulled her lean form effortlessly out of the sewer access, setting her on her feet. Her disc and the Black Guard's was removed from her hands, which were promptly locked together behind her back. She wasn't the only one that had fallen victim to the street sweeping tonight. She could see red Recognizers far above the rooftops casting searchlights, and at least three other blue-circuit Basics were being led through the streets in restraints within her field of vision. She heard a shout and turned behind herself in time to witness the "immediate de-resolution" of an unfortunate program a block away. She wasn't given any time to contemplate her fate before she was roughly pushed forward. One of the Recognizers had changed its path and was heading straight towards them, descending with a beam of light exposing a wide circle where Echo stood. For a moment, her circulatory core leapt into her throat. If she complied, there was at least the possibility for escape.

Echo found herself and her companions in misfortune restrained at the wrists and ankles aboard one of the patrolling Recognizers. She could feel that the gridcraft was moving with great speed and through the cockpit directly ahead, she could see the tall, vertical landmark that was Tron City Central Tower grow larger as well as the immense geodesic dome which indicated the Arena. She knew that the enormous sphere extended beneath street level and could easily seat 50,000 spectators. The central structures were the brightest objects in the city and they currently cast everything around them in a bright white glow, though the light of the tower ebbed and grew in 8 hour cycles; it would reach its apex brightness in another half millicycle. As the craft began to slow for descent, Echo lost sight of the tower. She had to forcefully remove the impotent worries from her mind, though they repeatedly pushed their way back in. Mostly, they centered around Castor. He was perfectly capable of protecting his and Zuse's interests, but she could think of three separate occasions when, on Zuse's orders and in the company of Castor, she had performed some exceptionally grim duties.

The door of the Recognizer opened downward, forming a ramp that was edged in red, and her crimson glowing captors released the ankle restraints from Echo and the others captured. They were led, at threatening lightstaff point, down the ramp and outside to the central tower's rooftop receiving pad. So high above the streets, the wind rolling in from the Sea of Simulation, which Echo could see from here as an enormous, shimmering surface swallowing the southern horizon, was forceful this evening, and her blue hair whipped around her head and face, stinging her skin. Storm coming, how appropriate.

As she was prodded into the center of a line of a dozen other captives, Echo saw other Recognizers landing and disgorging their content of captured criminals, though the term was applied loosely here. The Games would be exciting to watch tonight with so many combatants, and she also knew that those that didn't get sentenced to play would only serve to swell CLU's ranks after being Rectified. There was a shout, muffled by wind, and Echo and the others in line with her turned to where, on the far left side of the landing pad, a blue-circuit had decided to make a run for it. Two guards pursued, he tripped, and a red bolt indicating a thrown disc shattered him before returning to its owner. All continued as if nothing had happened, but the program to Echo's right, a yellow-circuit free tech, had started quaking violently and gibbering to herself and Echo couldn't help but feel pity.

They were soon approached by a red-circuit military program, flanked by four more soldiers with lightstaves, whose uniform indicated that he was a Captain. Echo tried to see the program he approached first, but was jabbed painfully in her side by one of the guards, prompting her to look straight ahead. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw and heard the Captain scanning and calculating.

"Rectify," his deep, warbled voice barked authoritatively. Whoever he had just sentenced was led immediately onto another Rectifier. He moved to the next in line, only three away from her. Her mind raced.

"Games." He was going too fast. The program that had been sentenced to the Games was whimpering now and feverishly talking to himself. They had to drag him to the lift platform. Echo wondered what he had done that had made the Games a worthy judgment and how long he would last.

"Rectify." Another soldier for CLU's army. The yellow-circuit was next.

"Games." She fell silent and was led away quietly.

The captain was before her then and Echo could hear the small digital whirring of his scanners.

"Games," she blurted just as his mouth, the only thing that was visible under his helmet, had opened. "I want to play." The Captain and his guard appeared as nonplussed as they could in three quarter-length helmets. She saw her judge smirk.

"You'd better put on a good show, soldier killer," he leered before barking, " _Games_."

Like the yellow-circuit that had been next to her, Echo was ushered away by two soldiers, ignoring the disbelieving stares of the basics that still awaited judgment, to the lift which would take her down into the Arena. When she stepped onto the lift platform, she could already hear, and feel, the booming pulse of the Arena's percussive war drums which served to inflame the crowds and unnerve the combatants. Echo was calm, however. No one survived the Games, but at least she would end her existence doing what she did best. She just hoped that Castor could forgive her.


	2. Chapter 2

Far above everything, above the noise and shuffle of five thousand eager spectators, an ancient ruler sat in near silence, surveying the crowds through floor-to ceiling window in the observation deck aboard his personal gridcraft, which swelled as more and more poured into the arena from its street level entrances. Out there, the lights were bright and dazzling, spilling cold blue light in through the window. The lighting of rest of the minimally furnished room was deliberately subdued, dimmed, illuminated only by the strips of red circuit veins at the corners at the floor and ceiling. Warm. Cozy. Having experienced so much stress and hardship in his existence, CLU felt that he deserved a calm, relaxing space. He could tell that the city's inhabitants were ready to let off steam after a grueling nine days (triple millicycles, roughly 24 hours) of work. He had discovered many cycles ago that if he did not allow them time to reboot and refresh, overall efficiency dropped. The Games were a great way to allow the denizens of Tron City to blow off steam in ways that were not harmful to his goals. They were also a good way to handle crime, or more specifically, the sentencing of crimes. He knew that his policies were strict, but they worked.

Tonight, the evening of the ninth day, was a special occasion for more reason than the expected exuberance from menial laborers ready to throw off the shackles of daily banalities. Tonight, he had cleared his schedule. A soldier with a particularly artistic talent for dealing death was the scheduled Finisher in the Disc Wars; the Finisher was the combatant that the more tenacious sentencees met in the end if they survived all of the other rounds. This particular soldier elevated routine termination to a pure art, however, and even the programs in the crowds loved him, chanted his name as he de-resed their fellow blue-circuits.

CLU turned his head when he heard the satin whisper of his observation's room door flick open and immediately recognized the quiet, cautious steps of his second in command, Jarvis, as he entered the room and approached his left from behind. Jarvis said nothing, however, until the announcer's female voice, had finished giving the five minute warning for the start of the Games. Through the sound-muffling window, he could hear the faint din of the Arena drums beginning their customary rhythmic cacophany.

"Your eminence," Jarvis spoke, keeping his deep voice low, "I thought you might like to know that there has been an update on the infiltration mission in the slums."

CLU was definitely interested. He motioned for Jarvis to continue, regarding the tall, pale, opalescent-skinned task manager with comfortable aloofness. "Your Black Guard, Kanis, went off-mission with an escort, to an establishment called Firewall." CLU was focused sharply on Jarvis suddenly, turning his head to see him more directly. His task manager stuttered slightly and swallowed. "He was terminated. But," Jarvis didn't pause, "the program responsible for his de-resolution, designation Asp, didn't get very far. We have her in custody."

"Rectification?" CLU asked, his voice calm.

"Actually," Jarvis glanced down at the handheld digital display he always had with him, "she volunteered for the Games."

There was an uncomfortable silence as CLU contemplated whether he should manufacture some anger or disgust in response to the news, but in truth he was not entirely surprised. Kanis was an excellent Black Guard, but the elite enforcer had become increasingly unstable as of late. While he allowed most of his higher-level military programs to maintain some small amount of autonomy and personality, it could occasionally manifest in aberrant behavior that was only cured by further reprogramming or termination, the latter of which had been taken care of for him by the low-life that was unfortunate enough to be Kanis's killer. In the end, CLU decided to just appreciate that it would give him a chance to make tonight's Games exceptional.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

The lift brought her to one of the rotating Armories that circled the Arena at street level, and once she was on the Armory floor, the lift tube closed above her head and she could feel the room move forward around the circle so that the next Armory could receive its combatant. Straight ahead was a large, transparent wall, currently dimmed, that gave a Gridcraft's eye view of the Arena. She could already hear the bombastic music that heralded the start of the evening's Games. It was meant to both energize the crowd and let combatants know that their remaining time in this existence was short. No one survived the Games anymore, except when CLU felt that the combatants were worthy of Rectification, reprogrammed to fight for him against their former friends and colleagues. This was so fundamentally against Echo's hard coded directives to protect and aid free Basics. She'd seen too many allies fall before the waves of CLU's violent empire, she wasn't going to join the enemy, even if it meant her termination in front of thousands of ravenous spectators.

After waiting for a long moment, she suddenly found herself illuminated by a circle of white light that indicated that the Armory was now active. She felt as if she were outside of herself; somehow this wasn't actually happening to her, it was some other unfortunate fool that had gotten herself caught after de-resolving a high-ranking officer in front of multiple witnesses. She heard the four Siren docks disengage, releasing the Armory's outfitters. The Sirens, four males by the look of them, approached her with great ceremony and removed her clothing, exposing her medium tan skin, dull without her visible circuit lines, and her well-defined musculature. She thought of Castor. He was fully capable of taking care of himself, she knew, but her fears were more associated with his lasting opinion of her. She had served him loyally for hundreds of cycles, a majority of her life. He'd taken a chance with her back when she was a lowly disc runner, forced to abandon her duties as a security program at a financial processing center during the Purge. She couldn't even remember much of the time before Castor, and it didn't really matter anyway. It was impossible for her to keep anyone safe when the red-circuits took control of everything, and like many others on the wrong end of CLU's rise to power, she was displaced.

A new grid suit started creeping up her legs pixel by pixel, covering the smooth robotic leg that replaced her left limb from the hips down so that it appeared as though she had two working legs. She had never seen a program with a permanent disfiguring injury in the Games, but that was likely because the Sirens were instructed to hide these handicaps beneath the grid suit; it would likely cause outcry to see such an obvious injustice, the crowds only wanted to see able-bodied fighters compete. Echo, of course, had grown fairly proficient in combat despite it, and she often took advantage of the assumption that she was less capable for it. Once the body suit enveloped her in the dense, breathable fabric, her light blue circuit lines flickered on again and Echo took some minor comfort in their glow, trying not to picture what her voxels would look like scattered, painting a pattern of the same cool turquoise color across the floor of the Disc Wars bay.

The Sirens were now applying the armor piece by piece, the jointed plates fusing to the fabric of her suit on contact and reinforcing the material. One Siren reattached her disc, snapping it into place on her back holster and reconnecting her with her memory stores while another injected her arm with a concentrated dose of manipulated energy, a substance that was illegal on the streets but approved for use on competitors before the Games to add a little more life to the condemned. No one wanted to see the weak and destitute get slaughtered any more than the cripples. Echo closed her eyes against the euphoric high flooded her system, forgetting for one brief and shining moment that she was going to die, wanting nothing more than to stay in that place. The flare dissipated and she was left with a lingering warmth that filled her body with pure vigor. She felt very fidgety now, as was normal when using such a substance, and she wanted now to get out of this dark room and face her first opponent, whoever the unlucky program was.

A dispassionate female voice sounded through the room, informing Echo of the importance of her disc, something of which she was already very aware, and stating the simple rules of combat: combatants were to enter their assigned Disc Bay and fight. Either they won and moved to the next round against more seasoned opponents, or they lost and were de-resed. Victory was short lived, as there was always a Terminator in the last round, one of CLU's own elite whose sole purpose was to take care of the remainders. The first few fights were merely a way to weed out the least capable fighters to ensure the maximum entertainment potential of the end games. Rarely, a captured Basic had defeated their Terminator, only to find themselves replacing them. This was not going to happen to Echo. She was fully aware of her combat abilities and they simply did not compare to the elite programming of CLU's Black Guard.

The arming process complete, the Sirens returned to their docks in the four corners of the room. Simultaneously Echo's foot clamps released and the transparent wall in front of her began to open, and Echo was hit by the wave of sound coming from the screaming crowds. Full house tonight, she realized, stepping forward, fingers itching to grip her disc. Passing the threshold of the armory door was dizzying; the entire platform was enclosed in clear plates of hexagonal material, through which she could see the vast interior of the Arena's Sphere. There were two levels of Disc Wars combat bays suspended above the bottom of the arena. Echo was at the top tier. Spaced evenly at her level were seven more transparent bays, in which she could see her potential opponents. Above them all in the center of the dome's apex, beneath a clear view of the night sky, was the rotating roster scoreboards. Echo saw herself listed up there but none of the others were familiar to her. Beneath her feet, she could see the second tier of Disc bays, and along the sides of the sphere was the distant stadium seating, enough to hold an audience of a hundred thousand, all of whom were calling out in excitement, all calling for death, all enjoying that they were only observing. The Arena was configured for the Disc Wars right now, so there was no floor. There was nothing to catch a falling program but the electrical field below, which would at least ensure a quick and painless death upon contact. More than one combatant had chosen this fate rather than participate in combat. Either way, CLU got what he wanted.

The roar of the crowds swelled when a slow-moving red object entered the vast Arena space from the hangar entrance to the west and the lighting of the space dimmed slightly. It was Himself, in his personal Gridcraft. Most often this was the face that the programs living in the System saw of their dear leader, his modified Recognizer which doubled as his moving headquarters. Echo had seen it periodically, looming far above the city, distantly watching all of the processes of the city. Apart from that, Echo had only seen the System Administrator from a great distance or in second-hand footage. He rarely made public appearances to any but his own soldiers.

Jarvis, second-in-command and city Task Manager, announced the commencement of the Games and all of the Disc bays were disengaged from their Armory doors and moved toward the center, rotating along with the scoreboard above them. Each of the combatants entered the Arena within one half of the Disc War's combat chamber, but once the Games began, the halves joined up with a randomly chosen opponent.

Echo's first opponent was snarling at her, crazed and corrupted, the blue code in his face damaged and flickering underneath his helmet. His disc was already in hand, and with a heavy-handed spin, the burning edge of his disc was coming toward her face, before the two halves of the combat bay had completely joined together. Echo threw herself to the side, dodging it narrowly and retrieving the disc from her back in one fluid movement. In the joint between the two combat bay halves, there was a hexagonal tile that provided a boost to vertical height if one's feet struck it with enough force; Echo sprang toward it now, determined to strike the mad program critically before his disc returned to him. She barely made it, but she felt the deadly outer ring of her disc cut into him just as a glowing white saucer entered the edge of her visual range. It passed through his fastly unravelling voxellated hand. His final snarl sizzled electronically into the air and the sound outside the chamber exploded as the crowd cheered at the first termination of the evening.

She was now in the other program's half-bay, but the scoreboard adjusted accordingly and the unfeeling female voice rang out through the stadium to announce that she was the victor. Her first round was over, but she had no time to catch her breath; another had been terminated and she was now joining the winner of that match in a duel for round 2.

She looked up to the roster board; her opponent was named Tiko, and she saw as he drew near that he was shaken to the core from the match he had just come away from alive. Echo could tell that he was not a warrior. He was soft around the middle, and his face was almost green, as if he were going to be sick right there. The two halves of the combat bay fastened together, but there was a long moment where the two of them watched and waited to see what the other would do. How had he even survived? Echo had no desire to attack first, but it seemed that neither did he. Another match elsewhere on the upper tier was over, the crowd screamed, and Echo just stood there, holding her disc and waiting, looking at Tiko. With a groan, he loosed his disc weakly toward her, and as she easily stepped out of its path, she realized that his first match must have been won through sheer stupid luck. He caught his disc again and appeared perplexed as to why she had not attacked him yet.

Feeling brave and defiant, she decided to address her opponent.

"Hey," she said simply, a smile softening the edges of her dark eyes. He was nonplussed, but nonetheless he stood there and did not throw his disc again, waiting to see what she had to say. She had but a moment to spare as another match was over on the other side of the arena in a shower of glowing voxels and sparking conductive fluids.

"I don't know about you, but I have no desire to fight you."

He nodded in eager agreement; neither did he. "What do you propose we do about it?" he asked, gripping his disc anxiously and glancing on either side of them. There were two other matches left beside them, and Echo knew that they wouldn't escape attention for long.

"We don't fight," she repied simply. They might both de-res for their disobedience, but it would prevent her from going against her directives to protect the innocent. She assumed that armed combat wasn't included with the other one's command lines either. Her head turned suddenly toward the sounds of another de-resolution. The crowd was getting ravenous now. She was going to die, but her entire being rebelled against the idea of giving into the demands of the termination-hungry spectators and the ruler who sat comfortably in his red ship while so many de-resed before him.

"They'll just kill us both," Tiko said, his voice despairing and anxious. Echo nodded.

"At least we will end our runtimes as free programs." Tiko seemed to be contemplating this when they both heard the other match end, the victor as the third program on this tier, was matched up with one from the lower tier, and then it was just she and Tiko at the top. They still had not raised a finger to one another and it seemed as though it no longer slipped beneath the notice of Jarvis. His voice echoed across the Arena's speakers.

"All Programs must commence combat or face immediate de-resolution."

Echo stood up straighter and faced the Recognizer, a defiant glare on her face.

There was a low tone, a bare slip of a sound that was almost inaudible beneath the noise of the crowds, but Echo had heard it and knew exactly what it meant. All who attended the Games knew that sound. It preceded any manipulation of the physics within the combat bay, here it specifically indicated a gravity reversal. There was no time. She motioned to the other program to follow her lead, and could only hope he would understand as she ran toward the wall behind her. Her momentum carried her halfway up the sharp slope just as the gravity flipped horizontally, and she found herself coming down except now she stood on what had been the ceiling.

The other program was not fast enough. Instead of moving with the gravity change, he fell from the floor to the ceiling with a heavy thud, hitting the clear tile beneath him. A hundred thousand cruel and enthused voices went wild. Almost as quickly as it had started, the reversal tones warned of another gravity flip. It usually didn't happen so frequently, but there was no time to think, and barely enough time for her to move forward, so she used the side wall as a ramp. She managed to time it just so that she was back on the floor of the chamber by the time the gravity was there to greet her, but her opponent was flung again from the ceiling to the floor like a rag doll. His disc took the full force of his weight which was enough to splinter, then shatter, the hex directly beneath him.

Echo felt a surge of panic, and threw herself forward to catch him. With a burst of elation, she felt her gloved hand come in contact with his. Just as quickly, it slipped through her fingers like liquid and the program was falling. She could only watch, horrified and mesmerized as he was dashed into a thousand-thousand voxels onto the fatal electric field beneath them both. His final expression of fear filled her with sorrow so potent, she couldn't breathe. It was a cruel way to terminate someone, and the spectators, regular programs that performed average-level functions day to day exactly like the victims in the Games, roared in an incomprehensible mixture of excitement and disappointment at her victory by default. The drums signaled that there were no other pairs left fighting, which meant that the others that had made it to the final round had met their end against a red-circuit employed by CLU specifically to clean up. Hers was the last name on the scoreboard above, she realized. Anger sparked within her.

The bay was moving again. The announcer heralded the beginning of her final round against Rinzler. Echo knew from the fevered chanting of a hundred thousand voices in unison as they invoked Rinzler's name that she was going to die very, very quickly. She flew to her feet just as the two halves of the combat bay joined. Once they did, the space around her transformed, expanded. She turned to face her new opponent.

He was a Black Guard, that much she could tell from looking at his uniform. He was different from the one she'd slain in the club, however. His uniform was even blacker, scarce points of red light floated in a sea of light-sucking shadow. His stance was hunched, crooked, and his shoulders were rolled forward, arms dangling loosely but deliberately in front of him. The circuit pattern on his gloves, each joint of his thumbs, index, and middle fingers illuminated, gave the illusion that he had claws instead of hands. The overall effect was sinister. The bisected planes of his helmet face showed nothing of the real face behind it, but his outward appearance allowed her imagination to run wild, and she pictured a twisted, deformed monstrosity. Something was seriously wrong with this program, and despite her earlier enthusiasm, she was now anxious.

Uneasily, she retrieved her disc from its back holster, not once moving her eyes from the black shape across the combat bay from her. He had not yet moved. The crowds continued to chant his name and Echo's throat suddenly felt very very dry. She exhaled very slowly, emptying her respiratory core and her mind, letting it go to the blank space where it would not interfere with her body. Her nerves were still rattled, but she was calmer. Rinzler seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move.

She sank low to the ground and positioned her disc. She twisted her upper body and her lower body followed in a full circle building up kinetic energy to put some strength behind her disc throw and she released it, its path taking it precisely toward her target. It flew well to the side of him. He had moved so quickly, she'd missed it. He was fast, but that cursed uniform also made him harder to track. When she caught the disc again, she immediately sent it spinning toward him a second time, this time willing her eyes to stay open. Rinzler sprang easily into the air, flipping sideways cleanly over the disc's trajectory and landed just as easily, the weapon bouncing harmlessly off of the wall behind him. When he dodged a third time as easily as if he were dancing, Echo growled in frustration. He had still not removed his weapon from his back. He was toying with her, and the crowds loved it. She knew she was going to de-res before the night was over, but to be humiliated on top of it was too much.

She decided to bring the fight to him. With a snarl, she threw herself forward, across the expanse that lay between them. Her target still did not move until she was almost on top of him, her disc arm swinging toward him in a glowing blue arc. He was a blur. Iron clamps fastened onto her disc arm and pulled, he flipped back, her forward momentum and the grip on her arm sent her crashing to the floor so hard the wind was knocked out of her. Her disc skittered across the clear floor of the combat bay and for a moment, the sight of the electrical field net far below was dizzying. She recovered and scrambled toward her disc, and when her hand closed around the rim, she spun around, triumphant that she was at least fast enough to get her weapon before his next attack.

He was standing there, watching her, helmet tilted in what could only be seen as curiosity or amusement, and in both of his hands, he held two red-rimmed discs. _Two_. He had let her get her weapon on purpose, clearly considering her no threat. Echo, starting to feel the heat of anger lick at her cheeks, lowered herself, legs primed to spring, disc ready to strike.

She didn't get the chance. When he moved toward her, his suit was a blur of hot red lines traced into the air along his spinning, flipping trajectory. His weapons formed a cyclone of fire. She barely had time to hold up her disc for use as a shield to block at least some of the blows by the time they rained upon it, jarring her. She ducked, he flipped his body over her as if his legs were on springboards, and despite being able to block the brunt of the disc strikes, a few shallow ones managed to come close enough to slice her grid suit. They left sizzling scorch marks, instantly soldered, in their wake on the skin underneath.

Out of ideas, Echo feigned a stumble to the ground and when he moved in, she swept her hard false leg beneath him, causing him to fall in earnest. He recovered impossibly quickly, however, tumbling and springing forward just as Echo righted herself, trying to keep her smugness from distracting her. He was upon her again and a foot slammed bruisingly into her core. She went down hard and skidded backwards a couple of meters, the wind knocked out of her, and tried to blink the black pixels from the edges of her vision. The black-clad Terminator stalked toward her; she detected no anger nor any other emotion in his body language and that frightened her more than anything, but she also wanted him to fight for his victory instead of simply taking it.

In one last attempt, the moment he was within range, Echo grabbed one of his ankles between the two of hers and pulled. Though she made contact and his leg buckled for a moment, there was a jarring jolt and a metallic scraping noise as her mechanical leg suddenly fell away from her below the knee. She found herself rolling onto her side, palms down, her balance thrown from the wasted momentum of trying to throw him with her legs. Had it been her actual leg that he had decided to trike, it would have de-resed, and she likely would have died from the loss of precious energy-bright conductive fluid. Instead, severed power conduits sparked and sizzled brightly but harmlessly overall. Rinzler seemed momentarily surprised, but nonetheless, he brought a foot down upon her shoulder, forced her to roll over and shifted all of his weight into it, compressing her into the floor. She watched numbly as he swung one of the two discs cleanly forward, it's path leading to the center of her chest, over his foot and directly above her circulatory core. She saw herself reflected back in the shiny black surface of Rinzler's helmet. At least she'd tried.

 **"** ** **Rinzler. Enough.**** **"** The digitally pitch-dropped and distorted voice of god commanded from everywhere at once, echoing through the arena. The black specter froze instantly, though he did not move his gaze from her, and waited for further instruction. She forgot to breathe. **"** ** **Bring her to me.**** **"**


	4. Chapter 4

**Deprived of what was starting to be a rousing finale for the Disc Wars matches, a hundred thousand voices booed and gossiped and speculated as the combat bay began its descent to the rapidly materializing solid floor of the Arena and CLU's ship was visibly doing the same.**

 **The moment Echo realized that she wasn't about to be terminated, her entire demeanor changed from grim resignation to shock, and finally to the overwhelming desire to either escape or die trying. To be brought to CLU was never a good thing, even if he'd temporarily spared her life for the opportunity; she doubted the order was given with the intention to set her free. Rinzler stood there just out of reach watching her and her eyes narrowed, anger coming back to her, eclipsing the fear. Though she thought she had been hearing something for a few minutes now, Echo was sure now that she definitely detected a low, almost subsonic clicking noise coming from the Black Guard. The steady staccato vibrations sounded neither like breathing nor any kind of deliberate vocalization, but as the sound of the crowds died down and the spectators filed out of the Arena for the evening, she heard Rinzler more clearly.**

 **When the combat bay touched ground, two red-circuit captains strode in and attempted to apprehend her, likely expecting her to be complacent or too scared to fight as all the others they dealt with were. They were not being guarded. The moment their hands encircled her upper arms, she threw herself into a frenzy, kicking and clawing. She landed her good foot solidly into a jaw, knocking ajar one of their helmets, and the motion caused the other one's grip to slip. One of them pinched the helmet node on her collar, exposing her bare face as if to threaten her, but she just snarled at him, finding shameless pleasure in acting as unruly as possible.** ** _De-res me, you bastards._**

 **When two more joined the first, her thrashing proved to be less effective and she felt herself being dragged despite her efforts, gripped in multiple places by different sets of arms, out of the combat bay. She dropped her disc in her efforts but didn't care. She didn't stop struggling until she felt the sizzling hot red tip of a stun baton set to maximum mere centimeters from her throat. The arm which held it extended belonged to Rinzler and he held it so calmly that all the enjoyment she had been getting from providing resistance drained out of her and embarrassment and fatigue took its place. She finally allowed herself to just hang from the bruising grips of the soldiers, now just one on each arm, her good leg dragging along the floor. Rinzler stepped back to follow behind and after deactivating the baton, clipped it to his thigh holster. Echo could see that he'd retrieved her disc from the ground and now held it in hand as they approached the gridcraft.**

A program was waiting for them just beside the Recognizer's entrance, a 2-dimensional note screen in one hand and a transparent display visor attached to his bare head covering his face down to his broad, square chin. The ship's dim red circuits drenched them all in a red glow and gave a pink cast to the program's almost pearlescent white skin. Though she had never seen him this close, she knew that this was Jarvis, and he looked every bit the bureaucrat, his mouth pressed in a straight line as he read the handheld screen. He met her eyes with disinterested disapproval, but he waved his hand and accepted her disc from Rinzler. His eyes skimmed the incomprehensible code on his screen, but Echo didn't bother to try. Echo was no tech and did not know how to understand the language, but she knew all the same exactly what was recorded on her disc; one incident in particular stood out in her mind above the rest.

After a moment of reading, Jarvis's gaze flickered back up at her, lingered on her blue hair, and brows raised said, "I _see_." He addressed Rinzler and motioned with the disc. "CLU will want to see this."

With that, Jarvis stepped up the short ramp onto the entrance of the gridcraft and disappeared inside without waiting to see if they followed him.

Awkwardly, she shuffled and hopped on her good leg, feeling humiliated for being forced to parade around one-legged. It was undignified. She'd had the disfiguring injury as long as she could remember, and was all she knew. She was at peace with it and had become a very capable fighter despite of (and occasionally because of) it. Still, to be deprived of the ability to walk normally before the overwhelmingly powerful System Administrator and his armies seemed a deliberate measure meant to demoralize her. It was depressingly effective. With Rinzler close behind and the two Captains' hands digging into her upper arm, it made for a very uncomfortable short journey through the main section of the ship. Techs sat on either side of a central pathway busily typing away and moving information around on their circular Tech stations, seemingly oblivious to them as they passed between.

He brought her into a door at the back wall. When they passed through the portal, she felt blinded momentarily by the dimness of the space and almost deafened by the nearly perfect silence. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she gathered that she was now within CLU's personal sanctum. There was a chair straight ahead facing a clear window wall, and there were two more techs on either side of the entrance to the room in their circular Tech stations recessed slightly into the floor. Someone was seated in the chair, facing away from them, but Echo could see from the back of his uniform that his circuits were a golden yellow.

Jarvis, standing beside the seated program, spoke in a low tone of voice when he announced her presence. He delivered her disc and as Echo was escorted around the room to the front of the chair, she saw the SysAdmin access the disc's menu interface and skim through the files; although she knew he'd probably already seen them. As Echo watched all of her sins flashing on the hovering three-dimensional holographic display, the blue glow illuminated CLU's face sharply in the dimly-lit red light of the circuit strips in the corners of the room.

A triangular jaw framed a wide, straight mouth, the corners of which contained the ghost of a smirk, as if he were given to humor; though Echo couldn't picture him taking or making any kind of joke. A strong nose led to up to sharp, shining blue eyes chiseled into the hollow beneath brows that were cinched into a strong V. She felt that his face did not match him. It looked far kinder than she knew he was. She swayed there in the grips of the soldiers for long minutes as CLU watched the pixellated images flash before him. The muscles in her good leg were beginning to cramp from resting her weight on it for so long and when she accidentally dipped to one side, leaning against one of the captains, CLU finally looked at her.

She never wanted to be at the focal point of that gaze ever again. She felt as if her entire body were being cut down the middle and opened up, exposing her vital cores and inner workings to those eyes. He didn't just see her, he was _reading_ her, like a block of code. He made a small gesture with his free hand and suddenly the iron hands around her upper arms which had been supporting most of her weight and keeping her balance released and she fell heavily to the floor a meter from CLU's gold-circuted boots, which were crossed casually at the ankles. The captains stepped back and again Echo had the distinct impression that she was not a threat to anyone here.

"Echo, is it? I've been reading up on you," CLU said. Despite her quickly dwindling pride, she had to look away from him. She felt far too naked when she met his eyes, as if the mental armor she had spent hundreds of cycles cultivating was stripped away. "I would have let Rinzler finish you, but I just had to see you myself." In person, his voice was light and almost friendly. Completely unlike the warbled, pitch-dropped growl that he spoke to the masses with. His voice, like his face, seemed completely alien, as if it did not belong to him, or as if he were utilizing a carefully calculated tone to present a very specific demeanor. The overall effect of geniality and calm clashed against that icy, unfeeling stare. Unsettled, Echo fixed her gaze somewhere around the severed end of her prosthetic leg.

"You are an interesting character, Echo." It sounded like a compliment said with a smile, inviting her to look at him as a friend. When she did, there was no smile. She realized belatedly that somehow she had been compelled to lift her eyes back to his face. It brought to mind her Hard voice, except that _she_ was only able to influence somewhat willing programs, not affect behavior. CLU was undeniably something different from the rest of the Basics Echo had met, and she could see why he was in power. Now she was fascinated, an emotion that at least seemed to edge out the anxiety. Her eyes settled on the safe space at the tip of CLU's nose. "Aiding in the theft and forgery of discs? Trafficking of illegal substances? Associating with known rebellion sympathizers? Terminations of my officers and supporters? I could go on." Echo's face lost all of its warmth and a tight prickling sensation was starting to spread across her arms and chest. The room felt hot all at once but her face still felt clammy and cold. CLU never moved his eyes from her.

"What do I do with you?" His question did not expect an answer, but she provided one.

"De-res me." She kept her voice carefully neutral, studying his nose.

There was silence for a moment and then a rustling of fabric as CLU stood up from his seat, sweeping his long, golden-edged overcoat behind him. Echo's eyes dropped to his boots again when they moved toward her.

A firm gloved hand was on her chin now, fingers digging in, forcing her jaw upward at an odd angle, the strength behind the gesture threatening repercussions. She had to straighten her back to look at his hard face from her position on the floor, but it was still uncomfortable. She didn't breathe, hyper aware of his close proximity to her. His eyes bored into her and she felt the heat retreat from her fingertips and toes.

"I've already decided that termination would be too much of a waste. I want you close to me." The dry lump in her throat didn't go down, no matter how much she tried to swallow. She was breathing again, but her breaths were shallow and quick, and she was fighting down a jagged ball of panic as the meaning of his words became clear to her. _Close to me_. She should have let the Black Guard in the bar terminate her. She should have jumped through the floor and ended her life herself when Tiko fell through. CLU dropped her chin and stepped back, his eyes taking careful measure of her entire crumpled form from her toes and severed prosthesis, up her thick thighs and hips, arms and torso and coming to rest on her face once more. She felt very, very small, which was not an easy feat.

There was a shuffling of feet; CLU must have signalled to his men because Echo found herself hefted off of the floor once more, but she quickly realized that she no longer required multiple guards to secure her. Only one held her now, his arm crooked around her waist, and though he was shorter than her at full height, Rinzler's impossibly hard arm muscles flexed and he supported her with no apparent difficulty. There was not a soft surface on his body. So close to him, she could hear the noise clearly now. It sounded like a growl. Another pair of hands pulled her arms awkwardly behind her, wrists together, and she felt the smooth, cold surface of digitally materialized restraints locking her hands in place.

"Rinzler, take her to a holding cell. I think it's only fitting for Kanis's killer to replace him."

Echo's world spun out of alignment. She had some awareness of crying out, saying no, gasping and sobbing as the mental image of herself wielding a weapon against her allies and friends paraded to the forefront of her mind, but the floor was dipping. She staggered, almost buckled, but the solid support of Rinzler's arm kept her steady as she was walked off of the ship. Restrained as she was, she had to lean on him or risk falling, and she didn't want another reason to feel inferior and foolish.

 _I want you close to me._ She would have to serve him as one of his elites, see him up close every day, do everything that was required of her, no matter how vile. In one last flash of desperation, she tightened her body and bucked, slamming the solid back of her head into Rinzler's helmet. The Black Guard's head snapped back and she had the brief joy of knowing that she had caught him by surprise before the hand that wasn't holding her waist whipped out the baton, set on stun, and held so close to her cheek that she could feel the crackling of the electrical current raising the hairs on her skin.

" _Don't_." The word was so low, so cracked and distorted, that she almost didn't realize that it was a word at all. Shocked, Echo fell silent and still, turning her head as much away from the stun baton as possible, side-eyeing her escort warily. With that one word, the futility of her situation became real to her and all of her fight was gone.

Subdued, she allowed herself to be loaded onto a Recognizer transport ship waiting outside of CLU's. Rinzler handed her to two soldiers and stood aboard as she was locked into place on a seat, her neck and waist clamped in and immobile. The Black Guard stayed nearby in his own station as the gridcraft departed. From her position she couldn't see where they were going, she could only stare balefully at the shadowy red-circuit's impassive helmet face. Dread pervaded every square centimeter of her. The gridcraft was plunged into darkness so that the only light came from the interior circuit lines. They were headed below the surface of the city.

Echo didn't know whose eyes she would be looking through when she saw Tron City again.


End file.
